


Worth It

by seamusdeanforever_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seamusdeanforever_archivist/pseuds/seamusdeanforever_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Bec.</p>
<p>Dean and Seamus have an Adventure. Sort of. (Fluffy like bunny rabbits.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cora: this story was originally archived at [Seamus/Dean Forever](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Seamus/Dean_Forever), which I opened in 2002, and which was closed in 2005 when the server that hosted it was closed. To re-open the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2015. An announcement was posted to OTW media channels, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Seamus/Dean Forever archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/seamusdeanforever/profile).
> 
> ***
> 
> Summary: Thrilling madcap adventure like you see on the TV screen! Or maybe not. Dean, Seamus. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

They were called wyrms, Hagrid told them. Neville seemed puzzled that they'd be studying the decidedly unmagical little tubular things that he'd grown rather fond of while working in the greenhouse. But then Hagrid led them outside to the keeping pens, and Neville gulped, and Dean mentally substituted the "y" for the "o".   
  
It wasn't that the wyrms were terribly big; on the contrary, they were only about four feet long and built on agile, graceful lines rather than stocky, imposing ones. But those claws shone wickedly, and the muted thrill of fear that ran through Dean as one of the wyrms yawned and showed off diamond-hard, glittering fangs was perfectly reasonable. Reasonable, and not a premonition, never mind the humid threat of the slate clouds overhead, because the only thing he was notable for in Divination was his poker face while spinning the most outrageous, gruesome lines.   
  
The wyrms could be called beautiful. They were elegant dragons in miniature, their scales so tiny that they blended into something that resembled the pebble-smooth hide of a lizard. Their milky pastel coloring shimmered and hinted at iridescence under moonlight.   
  
And they were going to walk them. Like dogs. They did have a rather canine sort of face, and large, appealing eyes. The Ravenclaws, who took Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindor fifth-years, appeared torn between avid curiosity and wariness of those teeth. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, were staging their usual show of nonchalant bravado. The boys, at least.   
  
"No, really, they're kinda cute. Like puppies are cute. You'll be safe as anything, would I lie to you?" said Seamus, hands on his hips and grinning at Lavender, who had expressed her great fear of the creatures in unmistakable terms: fluttering lashes and quavering little-girl voice.   
  
Now there's a question, Dean thought, and wandered off to choose a temporary pet. Would Seamus lie to you? Consider carefully, lass.   
  
Hagrid snapped a collar around the neck of Dean's wyrm, a mottled purple one, and handed him the leash. The wyrm seemed content to snuffle around the edges of the grounds and the lake. Dean wondered how legal these things were. He'd never heard of them before; they weren't listed anywhere in the curriculum, and they had the same off-kilter appearance that hybrids tended to have. It didn't do to put anything past Hagrid. Just think, all results from splicing genes and cloning organisms could be surpassed by a Big Friendly Half-Giant who probably stuck two different species in a room, locked the door, and waited to see what came out. Wouldn't his father's geneticist friends be miffed.   
  
Neville trailed alongside Dean, and his wyrm had sniffed audibly and curled the side of its mouth when Dean's had licked its ear. It was amusing to watch them ignore each other even while tripping over one another's tails. Neville hadn't taken offense when he'd received a glare for his innocuous "why'd you hurry off so fast, Dean?", so Dean figured he deserved to stay. Easy person to walk with in silence, anyway.   
  
He heard a startled yelp of "help!" and twisted around to see Seamus's wyrm, spooked by the vindictive Whomping Willow, sprinting straight into the Forbidden Forest. Seamus had the leash wrapped around his wrist, which was a good idea if you didn't want to lose the wyrm, but a bad one if you didn't want to be dragged off after it.   
  
Dean shoved the end of his leash into a staring Neville's hand and took off after Seamus, his even loping strides slowing only when he ducked into the forest proper and prickly branches whistled like slaps across his face. It wasn't difficult to follow Seamus; neither he nor the wyrm were covering their tracks, so there was a wide swathe of broken twigs and bent branches. But when Dean turned his head over his shoulder, he saw the trail mending itself behind him, the branches swaying together, leaving only tinged with autumn warmth knitting back into place like a zipper. He'd never be able to find his way back out.   
  
Lesson one, boys and girls, on why it's a forbidden forest.   
  
The trees were intimidating, too thick to wrap his arms around, and Dean hadn't thought flowers even came in those color patterns -- at least, they didn't in the shops -- and the climate inside the woods was not at all what he might have expected, hot and oppressively muggy instead of cool and refreshing. Not that Dean had any woodland experience or anything.   
  
But if he had to judge, he'd say that this forest gave off a very Robin-of-Sherwood vibe. He kept half-hoping too look up and see almost invisible, intricate treehouses and flint-eyed leathery people in green.   
  
Instead, he looked up and saw Seamus, perched on a tree limb and gazing with what seemed to be more amusement than fear at the wyrm, straining at its leash, which was tangled hopelessly around the trunk of the tree.   
  
"Uh, hang on," called Dean, as if Seamus were planning on doing anything else, but "I'll save you" didn't seem quite appropriate.   
  
The wyrm snapped once at his hand, rather half-heartedly, when he approached it. Dean unclipped the leash from its collar and it nuzzled affectionately for a moment before streaking off into the gloom, a bright lightning flash of silver and garnet against the leaves and then gone.   
  
Seamus let go of the branch with his hands and dropped backwards so he was hanging by his knees, then flipped off. For a moment, Dean's heart wasn't sure if it belonged in his throat or his stomach, because what if he broke his neck? But Seamus landed like a cat, glanced up through his lashes, and smirked. "My hero."   
  
"Shut it. How do you get into these situations?"   
  
"Oh, I got sick of being dragged to my probably horrific death, so I dropped the leash and climbed the tree and it would have worked except the wyrm was stupid and decided to do a Maypole dance around the trunk."   
  
"He's in an awful hurry, wherever he's going," Dean said.   
  
"He's off to make his fortune."   
  
"I can't blame him. Must be a dull life, being part of Hagrid's personal zoo."   
  
"Hey, Hagrid loves his creatures. He's good to them."   
  
"Who said he wasn't? Which way did we come from? All the tree look the same."   
  
"No -- like that one, see those vines? They'll grab you and tie you up like a parcel," said Seamus, pointing.   
  
"Why? How do you know?"   
  
"To eat you, I think. I don't know."   
  
"So. That way?" Dean wasn't sure how he had gotten so dislocated in such a short time. Possibly the forest shifted itself around with malicious intent. He suggested this, and Seamus agreed easily, as though there was nothing odd about the idea.   
  
"Anyway, no, I'm pretty certain you came running in from that direction."   
  
"You sure?"   
  
"Positive."   
  
The last time Dean had trusted Seamus it had ended badly for all concerned. Especially for Parvati, who had temporarily lost her eyesight when the potion mixed with the orange, not tangerine, pulverized-fish syrup exploded. But "that direction" seemed as good as any other.   
  
They set off, Dean with his longer arms trying to hold back the branches and avoid touching any of the jewel-like insects skittering across them. He didn't see any recognizable landmarks, but he wasn't sure what to look out for. And he figured that not meeting up with unusual ... things ... was probably fortunate, all things considered.   
  
"Why is it so hot? It's September. And it's a forest. Aren't they supposed to be all cool? With nymphs and babbling brooks? I'm not seeing any babbling brooks. This isn't a proper forest."   
  
Dean was content to let Seamus provide the running commentary. This was almost pleasant, doing something intrepid like trekking through a very much forbidden forest, Seamus so close behind him he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Even if he thought he was getting a blister on his left heel.   
  
Apparently the forests in Ireland were much more satisfactory. Of course, to hear Seamus talk, all things Irish were far superior, so that was hardly a surprise.   
  
"Help. Where are we? Oh, this is not cool, we're going to keep walking forever and ever until our doom comes upon us and we're eaten by a dragon."   
  
"There are no dragons left in Britain. St. George trounced them all."   
  
"Who?"   
  
Well, maybe not.   
  
"It's hot." Seamus quit muttering, standing ankle-deep in a clump of wispy ferns, and shrugged his arms inside his robes and then pulled them off. His sandy hair was ruffled and stuck straight up at the top of his skull, and he folded the robe carefully and hung it over the crook of his elbow. "'Kay. Onwards."   
  
Dean didn't say a lot of stupid, embarrassing things. He didn't say "you scared the hell out of me, running off like that", or "I don't think green is really your color", or "you look good in just jeans and a thin white T-shirt". What he did say, however, was almost worse.   
  
"So. You and Lavender?"   
  
Seamus had moved a couple of steps in front of Dean, and he waited for him to catch up. "Huh?"   
  
He didn't know why he was continuing this palpably hopeless thread of conversation. "You like her?"   
  
"Uh, yeah? Why wouldn't I? She's ... she's nice. Pretty cute. Great smile, you know. Why?"   
  
Good. Good, he didn't get it. He didn't have to. "No reason," Dean said.   
  
"No, really, why?"   
  
"Nothing. It's, just, you act like --"   
  
"Oh, say, if you want to try for her or whatever, I can back off. All you have to do is ask. We're not --"   
  
"-- no."   
  
Surprised by Dean's vehemence, Seamus blinked rapidly several times, then grinned. "Okay. But you could do worse."   
  
"Ah."   
  
"Good kisser."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Where've you been?" The delight in Seamus's voice was just ... just evil. He relented, though. "No, just, the Yule Ball last year."   
  
"You...?"   
  
"Sure. We were supposed to dance. I didn't want to dance, she didn't want to dance. So," Seamus shrugged, palms spread, very victim-of-circumstance, "we didn't dance."   
  
"Should you be talking about this?"   
  
"What do you mean? It's not ... not sacred or anything. Just fooling around. I really didn't tell you about it, after? Weird. No, I guarantee she's not keeping it -- or anything - secret."   
  
"I see."   
  
"So? What do you say?"   
  
"No, that -- that's not why I asked."   
  
"Right, then." Seamus kicked a pebble lying in the dirt, and watched it ricochet off a tree trunk. "Look, are you positive you're not jealous?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Because you sure sounded jealous."   
  
"I... I didn't -- no, I don't like Lavender. Like that. No." Smooth, Thomas, real smooth.   
  
"...oh," said Seamus, and then a few moments later, very softly, "oh," but Dean, his eyes fixed firmly ahead, tried to pretend he didn't hear that second one. The muscles in his shoulders and neck were tensed against a disgusted outburst that never came, and he eventually relaxed.   
  
"We're lost," Seamus said presently, because the forest was only getting darker and those glowing gold almonds glimpsed through the gloom were possibly eyes, and no one had come to rescue them.   
  
"Yes," said Dean.   
  
"It's my fault."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"But -- but they wouldn't just leave us out here, right? I mean ... we broke rules. They have to find us because otherwise they can't give us detention." Seamus sounded both anxious and sincere in his faith in the school's vengeance policy.   
  
"Yeah, but not for a while. Because I'm the one who'd notice that you're missing, and vice versa, and Neville's not going to tell anyone."   
  
"Uh. Way to work that buddy system."   
  
"Indeed. Let's turn around."   
  
"Might as well. This day couldn't be worse if it tried."   
  
Dean started wondering if this was their Adventure, the rite that would initiate them into the truly feckless ranks of Gryffindors reaching back to time immemorial. It seemed Seamus was thinking along the same lines.   
  
"If this is our big adventure, I'm telling you, we were gypped."   
  
"How so?"   
  
"Look, it's pathetic. We haven't vanquished any monsters, saved anyone in distress, or even been in any real danger except yeah, this is the Forbidden Forest, but I was expecting something scarier, you know?" Only Seamus could be offended over not having been in mortal peril. "What have we done? We skipped class and lost one of Hagrid's pets right before losing ourselves. We suck."   
  
"Shouldn't we be grateful that we haven't gotten ourselves killed yet?"   
  
"Where's your sense of adventure, of -- of --"   
  
"-- of having a death wish?" Dean said mildly.   
  
"Okay, that too."   
  
It started to rain. Of course. The thick foliage that so successfully filtered the sunlight into a pale imitation did nothing to keep the sudden downpour from drenching them. Dean sighed, decided he was being punished for some minor misdeed in a past life, and smiled slightly at Seamus. He looked much like a mop, his hair dangling in soaking clumps around his face and in his eyes, until he flicked it away impatiently.   
  
"Well. We're pathetic non-adventurers, but at least we get to be cold and wet."   
  
Seamus answered him with an eloquent gesture and hurried forward again. Their footsteps soon sounded quite squelchy, and Dean shivered as water trickled down his spine.   
  
But then there was the leash wrapped around the tree, and Seamus crowed and leaped into a shallow puddle, sending mud-spatters everywhere. "We've been going round in a circle." He smacked his forehead with his palm and circled around the tree, peering at its base, and then pointed to his left. "That way."   
  
"How do you know?"   
  
"The moss. I forgot, it grows on the north side of trees, and we're east of Hogwarts."   
  
"You're not telling me you actually paid attention in school for once," said Dean.   
  
"No! It's just -- hey, I'm not a city boy like you."   
  
Dean wouldn't even have guessed that the fuzzy purple stuff clinging to the tree's bark was moss, but he followed Seamus anyway.   
  
The trees began to thin, and the rain dwindled. Seamus's gleaming smile wavered when Dean didn't smile back. "You mad at me?"   
  
"No. Should I be?"   
  
"No, you most certainly should not -- I mean ... I mean, what's wrong?"   
  
"Nothing," said Dean, sidestepping past him towards the Hogwarts grounds.   
  
Seamus plucked at his sleeve, then grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around, his thumbnail digging into Dean's collarbone. "Don't give me that," he said fiercely, and his mouth was pretty and petulant and his eyes strangely challenging, and then Dean blinked and stopped halfway, keeping his eyes closed, because Seamus was kissing him.   
  
Dean didn't question it, didn't pull away, shoved the doubts and concerns clamoring for attention to the back of his mind, even though it was cold and still raining and he thought he might get a crick in his neck, inclining it down like this. His hands fluttered helplessly and then settled on Seamus's back, and Seamus was still moving his lips insistently against Dean's, and his mouth fell open and Dean's tongue was caught between the almost sharp edges of Seamus's teeth and the silk-slick inner side of his lower lip.   
  
The wet cotton of Seamus's shirt, probably almost transparent if he took the time to look, bunched under Dean's hands and he could feel the startling warmth of Seamus's skin radiating through it, and the shifting movements of his ribcage as he breathed, the mild air spilling into Dean's mouth. Seamus switched angles, and Dean had never actually made out with anyone before but he supposed that this was it, this confusion of heat and tongues twining thickly and all his senses immediate and aware and tingling and present, and was this supposed to be happening?   
  
Seamus almost followed when Dean stepped back, but then laughed at his wide eyes and drew the back of his wrist across his mouth. "Where've you been?" he repeated, answering the astonishment obvious on Dean's face, and he picked his robes off the ground where he'd dropped them. "C'mon, I'll bet we missed Potions."   
  
Dean trailed after Seamus, trying to slow his breathing and halt the smile that was creeping along his face.   
  
They were only late to Potions, and lost twenty points apiece, but Dean didn't think there was any question that it had been worth it.   
They were called wyrms, Hagrid told them. Neville seemed puzzled that they'd be studying the decidedly unmagical little tubular things that he'd grown rather fond of while working in the greenhouse. But then Hagrid led them outside to the keeping pens, and Neville gulped, and Dean mentally substituted the "y" for the "o".   
  
It wasn't that the wyrms were terribly big; on the contrary, they were only about four feet long and built on agile, graceful lines rather than stocky, imposing ones. But those claws shone wickedly, and the muted thrill of fear that ran through Dean as one of the wyrms yawned and showed off diamond-hard, glittering fangs was perfectly reasonable. Reasonable, and not a premonition, never mind the humid threat of the slate clouds overhead, because the only thing he was notable for in Divination was his poker face while spinning the most outrageous, gruesome lines.   
  
The wyrms could be called beautiful. They were elegant dragons in miniature, their scales so tiny that they blended into something that resembled the pebble-smooth hide of a lizard. Their milky pastel coloring shimmered and hinted at iridescence under moonlight.   
  
And they were going to walk them. Like dogs. They did have a rather canine sort of face, and large, appealing eyes. The Ravenclaws, who took Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindor fifth-years, appeared torn between avid curiosity and wariness of those teeth. The Gryffindors, on the other hand, were staging their usual show of nonchalant bravado. The boys, at least.   
  
"No, really, they're kinda cute. Like puppies are cute. You'll be safe as anything, would I lie to you?" said Seamus, hands on his hips and grinning at Lavender, who had expressed her great fear of the creatures in unmistakable terms: fluttering lashes and quavering little-girl voice.   
  
Now there's a question, Dean thought, and wandered off to choose a temporary pet. Would Seamus lie to you? Consider carefully, lass.   
  
Hagrid snapped a collar around the neck of Dean's wyrm, a mottled purple one, and handed him the leash. The wyrm seemed content to snuffle around the edges of the grounds and the lake. Dean wondered how legal these things were. He'd never heard of them before; they weren't listed anywhere in the curriculum, and they had the same off-kilter appearance that hybrids tended to have. It didn't do to put anything past Hagrid. Just think, all results from splicing genes and cloning organisms could be surpassed by a Big Friendly Half-Giant who probably stuck two different species in a room, locked the door, and waited to see what came out. Wouldn't his father's geneticist friends be miffed.   
  
Neville trailed alongside Dean, and his wyrm had sniffed audibly and curled the side of its mouth when Dean's had licked its ear. It was amusing to watch them ignore each other even while tripping over one another's tails. Neville hadn't taken offense when he'd received a glare for his innocuous "why'd you hurry off so fast, Dean?", so Dean figured he deserved to stay. Easy person to walk with in silence, anyway.   
  
He heard a startled yelp of "help!" and twisted around to see Seamus's wyrm, spooked by the vindictive Whomping Willow, sprinting straight into the Forbidden Forest. Seamus had the leash wrapped around his wrist, which was a good idea if you didn't want to lose the wyrm, but a bad one if you didn't want to be dragged off after it.   
  
Dean shoved the end of his leash into a staring Neville's hand and took off after Seamus, his even loping strides slowing only when he ducked into the forest proper and prickly branches whistled like slaps across his face. It wasn't difficult to follow Seamus; neither he nor the wyrm were covering their tracks, so there was a wide swathe of broken twigs and bent branches. But when Dean turned his head over his shoulder, he saw the trail mending itself behind him, the branches swaying together, leaving only tinged with autumn warmth knitting back into place like a zipper. He'd never be able to find his way back out.   
  
Lesson one, boys and girls, on why it's a forbidden forest.   
  
The trees were intimidating, too thick to wrap his arms around, and Dean hadn't thought flowers even came in those color patterns -- at least, they didn't in the shops -- and the climate inside the woods was not at all what he might have expected, hot and oppressively muggy instead of cool and refreshing. Not that Dean had any woodland experience or anything.   
  
But if he had to judge, he'd say that this forest gave off a very Robin-of-Sherwood vibe. He kept half-hoping too look up and see almost invisible, intricate treehouses and flint-eyed leathery people in green.   
  
Instead, he looked up and saw Seamus, perched on a tree limb and gazing with what seemed to be more amusement than fear at the wyrm, straining at its leash, which was tangled hopelessly around the trunk of the tree.   
  
"Uh, hang on," called Dean, as if Seamus were planning on doing anything else, but "I'll save you" didn't seem quite appropriate.   
  
The wyrm snapped once at his hand, rather half-heartedly, when he approached it. Dean unclipped the leash from its collar and it nuzzled affectionately for a moment before streaking off into the gloom, a bright lightning flash of silver and garnet against the leaves and then gone.   
  
Seamus let go of the branch with his hands and dropped backwards so he was hanging by his knees, then flipped off. For a moment, Dean's heart wasn't sure if it belonged in his throat or his stomach, because what if he broke his neck? But Seamus landed like a cat, glanced up through his lashes, and smirked. "My hero."   
  
"Shut it. How do you get into these situations?"   
  
"Oh, I got sick of being dragged to my probably horrific death, so I dropped the leash and climbed the tree and it would have worked except the wyrm was stupid and decided to do a Maypole dance around the trunk."   
  
"He's in an awful hurry, wherever he's going," Dean said.   
  
"He's off to make his fortune."   
  
"I can't blame him. Must be a dull life, being part of Hagrid's personal zoo."   
  
"Hey, Hagrid loves his creatures. He's good to them."   
  
"Who said he wasn't? Which way did we come from? All the tree look the same."   
  
"No -- like that one, see those vines? They'll grab you and tie you up like a parcel," said Seamus, pointing.   
  
"Why? How do you know?"   
  
"To eat you, I think. I don't know."   
  
"So. That way?" Dean wasn't sure how he had gotten so dislocated in such a short time. Possibly the forest shifted itself around with malicious intent. He suggested this, and Seamus agreed easily, as though there was nothing odd about the idea.   
  
"Anyway, no, I'm pretty certain you came running in from that direction."   
  
"You sure?"   
  
"Positive."   
  
The last time Dean had trusted Seamus it had ended badly for all concerned. Especially for Parvati, who had temporarily lost her eyesight when the potion mixed with the orange, not tangerine, pulverized-fish syrup exploded. But "that direction" seemed as good as any other.   
  
They set off, Dean with his longer arms trying to hold back the branches and avoid touching any of the jewel-like insects skittering across them. He didn't see any recognizable landmarks, but he wasn't sure what to look out for. And he figured that not meeting up with unusual ... things ... was probably fortunate, all things considered.   
  
"Why is it so hot? It's September. And it's a forest. Aren't they supposed to be all cool? With nymphs and babbling brooks? I'm not seeing any babbling brooks. This isn't a proper forest."   
  
Dean was content to let Seamus provide the running commentary. This was almost pleasant, doing something intrepid like trekking through a very much forbidden forest, Seamus so close behind him he could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Even if he thought he was getting a blister on his left heel.   
  
Apparently the forests in Ireland were much more satisfactory. Of course, to hear Seamus talk, all things Irish were far superior, so that was hardly a surprise.   
  
"Help. Where are we? Oh, this is not cool, we're going to keep walking forever and ever until our doom comes upon us and we're eaten by a dragon."   
  
"There are no dragons left in Britain. St. George trounced them all."   
  
"Who?"   
  
Well, maybe not.   
  
"It's hot." Seamus quit muttering, standing ankle-deep in a clump of wispy ferns, and shrugged his arms inside his robes and then pulled them off. His sandy hair was ruffled and stuck straight up at the top of his skull, and he folded the robe carefully and hung it over the crook of his elbow. "'Kay. Onwards."   
  
Dean didn't say a lot of stupid, embarrassing things. He didn't say "you scared the hell out of me, running off like that", or "I don't think green is really your color", or "you look good in just jeans and a thin white T-shirt". What he did say, however, was almost worse.   
  
"So. You and Lavender?"   
  
Seamus had moved a couple of steps in front of Dean, and he waited for him to catch up. "Huh?"   
  
He didn't know why he was continuing this palpably hopeless thread of conversation. "You like her?"   
  
"Uh, yeah? Why wouldn't I? She's ... she's nice. Pretty cute. Great smile, you know. Why?"   
  
Good. Good, he didn't get it. He didn't have to. "No reason," Dean said.   
  
"No, really, why?"   
  
"Nothing. It's, just, you act like --"   
  
"Oh, say, if you want to try for her or whatever, I can back off. All you have to do is ask. We're not --"   
  
"-- no."   
  
Surprised by Dean's vehemence, Seamus blinked rapidly several times, then grinned. "Okay. But you could do worse."   
  
"Ah."   
  
"Good kisser."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Where've you been?" The delight in Seamus's voice was just ... just evil. He relented, though. "No, just, the Yule Ball last year."   
  
"You...?"   
  
"Sure. We were supposed to dance. I didn't want to dance, she didn't want to dance. So," Seamus shrugged, palms spread, very victim-of-circumstance, "we didn't dance."   
  
"Should you be talking about this?"   
  
"What do you mean? It's not ... not sacred or anything. Just fooling around. I really didn't tell you about it, after? Weird. No, I guarantee she's not keeping it -- or anything - secret."   
  
"I see."   
  
"So? What do you say?"   
  
"No, that -- that's not why I asked."   
  
"Right, then." Seamus kicked a pebble lying in the dirt, and watched it ricochet off a tree trunk. "Look, are you positive you're not jealous?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Because you sure sounded jealous."   
  
"I... I didn't -- no, I don't like Lavender. Like that. No." Smooth, Thomas, real smooth.   
  
"...oh," said Seamus, and then a few moments later, very softly, "oh," but Dean, his eyes fixed firmly ahead, tried to pretend he didn't hear that second one. The muscles in his shoulders and neck were tensed against a disgusted outburst that never came, and he eventually relaxed.   
  
"We're lost," Seamus said presently, because the forest was only getting darker and those glowing gold almonds glimpsed through the gloom were possibly eyes, and no one had come to rescue them.   
  
"Yes," said Dean.   
  
"It's my fault."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"But -- but they wouldn't just leave us out here, right? I mean ... we broke rules. They have to find us because otherwise they can't give us detention." Seamus sounded both anxious and sincere in his faith in the school's vengeance policy.   
  
"Yeah, but not for a while. Because I'm the one who'd notice that you're missing, and vice versa, and Neville's not going to tell anyone."   
  
"Uh. Way to work that buddy system."   
  
"Indeed. Let's turn around."   
  
"Might as well. This day couldn't be worse if it tried."   
  
Dean started wondering if this was their Adventure, the rite that would initiate them into the truly feckless ranks of Gryffindors reaching back to time immemorial. It seemed Seamus was thinking along the same lines.   
  
"If this is our big adventure, I'm telling you, we were gypped."   
  
"How so?"   
  
"Look, it's pathetic. We haven't vanquished any monsters, saved anyone in distress, or even been in any real danger except yeah, this is the Forbidden Forest, but I was expecting something scarier, you know?" Only Seamus could be offended over not having been in mortal peril. "What have we done? We skipped class and lost one of Hagrid's pets right before losing ourselves. We suck."   
  
"Shouldn't we be grateful that we haven't gotten ourselves killed yet?"   
  
"Where's your sense of adventure, of -- of --"   
  
"-- of having a death wish?" Dean said mildly.   
  
"Okay, that too."   
  
It started to rain. Of course. The thick foliage that so successfully filtered the sunlight into a pale imitation did nothing to keep the sudden downpour from drenching them. Dean sighed, decided he was being punished for some minor misdeed in a past life, and smiled slightly at Seamus. He looked much like a mop, his hair dangling in soaking clumps around his face and in his eyes, until he flicked it away impatiently.   
  
"Well. We're pathetic non-adventurers, but at least we get to be cold and wet."   
  
Seamus answered him with an eloquent gesture and hurried forward again. Their footsteps soon sounded quite squelchy, and Dean shivered as water trickled down his spine.   
  
But then there was the leash wrapped around the tree, and Seamus crowed and leaped into a shallow puddle, sending mud-spatters everywhere. "We've been going round in a circle." He smacked his forehead with his palm and circled around the tree, peering at its base, and then pointed to his left. "That way."   
  
"How do you know?"   
  
"The moss. I forgot, it grows on the north side of trees, and we're east of Hogwarts."   
  
"You're not telling me you actually paid attention in school for once," said Dean.   
  
"No! It's just -- hey, I'm not a city boy like you."   
  
Dean wouldn't even have guessed that the fuzzy purple stuff clinging to the tree's bark was moss, but he followed Seamus anyway.   
  
The trees began to thin, and the rain dwindled. Seamus's gleaming smile wavered when Dean didn't smile back. "You mad at me?"   
  
"No. Should I be?"   
  
"No, you most certainly should not -- I mean ... I mean, what's wrong?"   
  
"Nothing," said Dean, sidestepping past him towards the Hogwarts grounds.   
  
Seamus plucked at his sleeve, then grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around, his thumbnail digging into Dean's collarbone. "Don't give me that," he said fiercely, and his mouth was pretty and petulant and his eyes strangely challenging, and then Dean blinked and stopped halfway, keeping his eyes closed, because Seamus was kissing him.   
  
Dean didn't question it, didn't pull away, shoved the doubts and concerns clamoring for attention to the back of his mind, even though it was cold and still raining and he thought he might get a crick in his neck, inclining it down like this. His hands fluttered helplessly and then settled on Seamus's back, and Seamus was still moving his lips insistently against Dean's, and his mouth fell open and Dean's tongue was caught between the almost sharp edges of Seamus's teeth and the silk-slick inner side of his lower lip.   
  
The wet cotton of Seamus's shirt, probably almost transparent if he took the time to look, bunched under Dean's hands and he could feel the startling warmth of Seamus's skin radiating through it, and the shifting movements of his ribcage as he breathed, the mild air spilling into Dean's mouth. Seamus switched angles, and Dean had never actually made out with anyone before but he supposed that this was it, this confusion of heat and tongues twining thickly and all his senses immediate and aware and tingling and present, and was this supposed to be happening?   
  
Seamus almost followed when Dean stepped back, but then laughed at his wide eyes and drew the back of his wrist across his mouth. "Where've you been?" he repeated, answering the astonishment obvious on Dean's face, and he picked his robes off the ground where he'd dropped them. "C'mon, I'll bet we missed Potions."   
  
Dean trailed after Seamus, trying to slow his breathing and halt the smile that was creeping along his face.   
  
They were only late to Potions, and lost twenty points apiece, but Dean didn't think there was any question that it had been worth it.   
  
  



End file.
